Edificio di Donna
by Kholen Phantomine
Summary: Or, Building of Woman. Sequel to Rinascimento di Donna. Rating, like the other's, may change. Enjoy, my darlings! Warning: You may want to read the first beforehand. MoJo, during RENT, for those who don't do so.
1. Il Boemo di Vita

AN:I told you I'd write it eventually :D So, sadly, I won't be using song names from La Boheme this time, as there aren't enough left, frankly. You'll just have to see what I do. Hopefully you won't be dissappointed. Enjoy!

**Disclaimed.**

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Maureen is radiant as usual, in her performance of Almost-_Hey Diddle Diddle_. It's times like this that I remember the woman I love, instead of the one that fills me with fear and confusion, and jealousy. I wish it happened more often. I don't know what's wrong with me, that I have such troubles seeing it lately. I relish this beautiful golden moment.

Then, the riot starts. Cops start beating on people at random, glass is broken, and Mo and I book it out of the lot. I've never seen her look so afraid and lost, since the first time I saw her. She's quite cute when she's like this, but I shouldn't dwell on it. We need to get the hell out of here.

The restaurant where we met is just around the block, and that is where we congregate, along with Roger, who doesn't remember me at all, and Mimi, his new girlfriend. Mimi seems sweet, but she makes me nervous. There's something about her that is making me want to reach out and hug her, but she has Roger on her arm, and nothing is actually wrong with her, so I control the urge. Collins, Mo's best friend, and his lover Angel are here as well. They are possibly the most adorable thing I have ever seen. Angel walks over and gives me a hug, and congratulates me on my "catch". I grin at her, and say that hers isn't shabby, either. I hope we'll be friends, I really like her.

Mo loops her arm around my waist, and nuzzles my cheek. I fill up with light.

"Hey, Pookie?" she whispers into my ear.

That nickname may actually start to grow on me.

"Yeah, Honeybear?"

"Could you please go back to the lot and pack up the stuff? I'll stay here, and host the party. I'd help you, baby, but it'd be rude if I left. Please? I'll make it worth your while!" She says this last bit with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. I do love that twinkle. Turning, I wrap her in a tight embrace, dip her low, and kiss her. Angel claps and giggles, and Mo wraps her fingers in my hair, before letting me go.

I return to the lot, carefully avoiding the clusters of people drinking and mooing, and collect up Maureen's impressive collection of sound equipment. The dust on some of it rises into the air as I pick it up, and resettles in my clothes, hair, and lungs. I restrain myself from hacking to keep from dropping the expensive technology.

It takes me about half an hour to put everything in boxes. Mo and I will pick all of it up tomorrow. I stack it in a pyramid, and leave the mixer off to the side, as it has no case.

When I show up, the tables are all strung together. I grin, _bet the strung up restaurant host likes that_. I see Mo near the end, drinking and smirking at… oh my God, Benny is here. Wow. I didn't think he'd show his face. Mo smiles at me, and I go to her. She takes my hand, and pulls me close.

"Is everything packed up?"

I'm beginning to feel slightly exasperated.

"What do you mean? Of course, Maureen."

"What about the mixer, what did you do with it, it doesn't have a case!"

"I just left it to the side."

"Hmm… maybe it'll fit with the patch cords, in the duffel bag. Please baby? I don't want it to be ruined!"

I roll my eyes. "Fine."

"Hey! Don't give me that face!"

I turn to leave. She smacks my ass. My cheeks flush, and I turn around to scold her, but I see that look in her eyes again. Mmm.

Benny's father-in-law pipes up, clearing his throat. _Pompous, homophobic asshole._

Mo just smiles at him. "Hey, mister? She's my sister." I almost laugh aloud, and leave again, to try to do what my lover has asked of me.

I guess I'm lucky to have such an awesome girlfriend, but sometimes, she's awfully high-maintenance.

Luckily, the mixer fits, and I have nothing else I have to do. I speed back to the Life, my stomach gurgling. I hope Mo thought to order me something.

She sends me back again, but not before a kiss. Lovely, but this is seriously starting to piss me off. I go back, wipe the stupid bloody speakers, and return, yet again. If I don't get something to drink, someone is going to hurt.

I walk through the doors, and my stomach fills with ice. Maureen is on top of a table, making out with Mark! What the fuck? That's it, that's the last fucking straw, I can't do it anymore!

I leave. I go home, and find something stiff to drink. That cheating bitch! Mark was right. God, this shit tastes good. I need to buy more of it later, I think it's Maureen's.

Maureen. Slut. She's getting her ass out of my house in the morning. She can move back in with her little lover boy. And Mark… two-timing little skank. Why did he do that to me? I thought we were friends! Fuck!

The rest is a blur. I think I go back to the restaurant, and talk to her. Tell her to take her shit out of my apartment by tomorrow. Then, I go back and crash on the couch, with the bottle of sourpuss in my hand.

I wake up at two in the morning. It's all gone. All her stuff, I mean. Even the half-empty bottle in my hand, but that's in the fridge. I find a note:

_Pook… Joanne,_

_I'm sorry. I'll be at the lot, if and when you want to talk. I can explain, if you let me._

_I love you. I really do. Please, I'd like to at least talk._

_Maureen._

Jesus… maybe when I've calmed down, I'll take her up on it. But right now, I'd just like to smack her. More sleep sounds lovely. I climb into bed. It smells just like her cheap shampoo. I cry myself to sleep, yet again, with one thought running through my mind: _Why?_


	2. Le Stagioni di Amore

AN: Hello again. Just have to say, this is probably more broadway-verse than film-verse. I just like it better. But it'll still make senseto those who don't know the play. It'll just play out a bit differently.

**Disclaimed.**

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Jesus fucking Christ… I'm never drinking again. My head is throbbing like there's a five-year-old inside digging its way out with a spoon. I'd like to just go lay in my bed, with my Honey-bear, for the rest of the day.

Wait… oh no. I remember last night. I almost go to the fridge for the half-finished bottle of liquor, but then my head twinges again, and I change my mind. What am I going to do? I want to run out and meet her, and make everything fine, but I feel… so deeply betrayed. She was kissing Mark. Mark! How could she do that to me, to him? What was she thinking?

Before I even realise I've decided to do so, I'm pulling on my coat, and heading out the door. There's a tiny flicker of hope burning in my stomach. It's just overshadowed by the heartburn. I'm just glad I don't have to work today.

The sky is cold and grey. It reflects my feelings completely. _Merry Christmas, world_. I cry bitterly a little, as I realize that this would be the first Christmas we spent together. That is, if we were together. And I don't think we are.

The lot is a mess. The rioters haven't quite cleared off yet, and there are broken bottles and puddles of vomit everywhere. I step over a sleeping, urine-soaked body, and into the stage area.

My assumptions were correct; this is where she crashed. Mo is curled in a little ball in her lime green sleeping bag, her hair spread everywhere, a puddle of drool emanating from her open, snoring mouth and dispersing over the polyester. I refuse to think that she's adorable, I'm mad at her. I square my shoulders, and shake her shoulder.

She blinks awake. Her bleary eyes stare up at me, first in confusion, and then in surprise, then, I am shocked to notice, gratitude.

"You came," she mumbles happily.

"Yes, I did. Now will you kindly get up so we can have a serious conversation?"

"Umm…" she grunts, as she extracts herself from the sticky fabric.

I reconstruct my facial features into a cold smile, hoping that she didn't notice me watching her as her pants slipped down to her knees as she was released. I really love that orange thong… anyways; she finally gets out, and sits cross-legged in front of me. I also assume the position.

"Well," I ask, "you said you could explain. Do so."

"Jo, pookie, baby…"

"None of that! I won't be so easily swayed!"

"Calm down, will you! It was a kiss, okay? That was it. I thought it would piss off Mr. Grey. We were trying to get him to leave the restaurant!"

I contemplate this for a moment.

"Really? You did it because you were trying to scare away an old man?" I can't believe her logic. My God, if I didn't… hold her in such high regard, I'd smack her right now.

"Yes, baby, please, don't be upset about it!"

I'm silent for a moment. I feel so angry.

"I see you packed up everything this time. I'm shocked."

Maureen looks aghast. "Um… well, yeah."

"Good. You'll need it."

"Pookie?"

"Stop calling me that! We're done. Your excuse doesn't work for me, you fucking slut!"

She doesn't say a thing. Her head bows, and three shining tears slide down her face.

Oh. Shit. I'm such a terrible person. "Merry Christmas, by the way. I bought you a present; I'll leave it here for you." I can't resist giving it to her. I can remember buying it, imagining the look on her face when she opened it. The look I imagined was rather different than the one on her features at present.

Mo slowly stands up and walks to me, taking the gift off of the floor in front of me. She unwraps it, and a leather cat suit falls to the ground. I had hoped we'd get some use out of it, but bygones shall remain as such, et cetera, and I'm going before I make any more of a fool out of myself. Besides, I very much would like to go die in a dark hole, now.

Her arms twitch towards me, but she doesn't touch me. Pain shoots through my stomach.

"Th-thank you," she stutters. I turn my back to her, and quickly exit the scene.

A shout reverberates off of the vandalized walls. "Yours is under your pillow!" Mo calls out.

My shoulders huddle together, and I continue walking. Why is it always so hard to walk away from her? It's not fair!

I finally make it back to ou- MY apartment, just as the skies break loose with a flurry of snow. I am extremely thankful for electric heating. Peeling my clothes off in my bathroom, I wonder briefly if I've done the right thing. The pain shudders through me again, and I push the thought aside, before crawling into my shower. I wash my body, and I reach for some shampoo. All that remains is Mo's. How evil of her. Damn. Oh well, it's all I have. I scrub it into my scalp, and keep myself from bawling like a toddler when its scent pours into my nostrils.

The shower ends, as all do; this time, due to the fact that an element in my hot water tank is broken. I mean to fix that, eventually. However, I could have stayed in there forever. I really don't want to face my empty apartment. I'm having slight problems holding myself together.

The steam in the bathroom clears, and I'm getting cold, sitting in there naked and such, so I sprint to my bedroom, and turn on the heater. It blows warm air against my goose-bumped legs, and I sigh. It feels good. I look towards my bed, and think of things that feel better, before I take control of myself. None of that! Mo's parting words float through my brain;"_…under your pillow!"_

I see a bit of blue paper peeping out from under said cushion. I'm curious. Crawling over the bed that still smells like her hurts, but I do it. I need to know what's in that parcel.

Carefully, I slide my fingernail under the cellotape, and unstick it to the paper. I tilt the package, and its contents flop out onto the coverlet.

Lying before me is a coat significantly out of Maureen's price range. I wonder how she got it. Then, I notice a slip of paper with her wild cursive poking out of the hip pocket.

_Hey, Pookie,_

_Your coat is nice and all, but it's not exactly thick. So, here you are! It's fluffy, and neutral, and quite chic, actually. I hope you like it. Note: Collins helped me buy it. But, I promise we didn't do anything illegal!_

_I love you, baby. Merry Christmas._

Under the carefully written note, was a post-script;

_PS: I'm so sorry for what I did tonight. I know you're mad at me. But I still love you, and if I can't be there to keep you warm, this will have to do. –Mo_

This time, I don't bother to repress anything. I have no words or actions to describe how worthless and awful I feel right now. I crawl into the covers on her side, bury my face in the pillow, and fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. Or at least, I hope it'll be dreamless.


	3. Anno Nuovo Felice

AN: Nother chapter! Yay! Maybe. I feel like my writing is getting worse *sadface*. But, I am persistent. Enjoy!

**Dslamededai. Because gibberish is fun!**

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I don't know what day it is. They've all blurred together. My body hurts from being curled up in bed so long. My eyes are nothing but puffy slits in my swollen face. I'm dehydrated from loss of tears. I've never felt like I wanted to die more than I do right now.

She's gone. She's gone, and I let her go. God. Now what do I do with myself? No one has called, except Angel, once or twice, but I didn't answer the phone. I just curl up in that new jacket, close my eyes as best I can, and sleep through it all.

I figure I should at least find out when I am, so that when my holidays are over, I can go back to work without any problem. Counting back, I figure that it's been about a week since Maureen… left.

The calendar tells me that it's December Thirty-First. New Year's Eve. Well, at least that explains why Ang kept calling. The little red light on my machine is blinking steadily. I press the play button, and a tinny voice flickers out of the plastic box.

"jojo, baby, pleeease show up tomorrow. We miss you. All of us do. Come on honey, at least consider it. Call me, gorgeous!"

She always makes me smile. How could anyone not love someone that adorable? Collins is a lucky man. I might be jealous, if Angel was my… er, "type". I wash my face, and then go to find some clothes. I haven't been out of the house in six days, and I'm excited to possibly move on with my life.

The phone rings, yet again. For the first time in days, I actually pick it up.

"Hello," I begin.

"JO! Ohmigod, honey, I thought you had gone off and sunk yourself into a pity coma! I'm so glad you've come back to the light side! How are you feeling, baby?"

"Angel! Oh, I'm… actually, I feel like trash, but I'm getting tired of wallowing in self-pity. So, what exactly are we doing tonight?"

"We?" After this, Angel emits an incredibly high-pitched squeal, "Oh, we're breaking the boys back into the loft! Benny padlocked the building, the capullo. So, we'll have cheap champagne, and we'll commit some crimes! It'll be grand fun."

I chuckle. "Oh, that sounds wonderful. Whatever shall I wear," I smirk.

She giggles. "Bye, chica. Whatever you wear, you'll look amazing anyways. See you at midnight!"

"Bye, Ang."

I hang up the telephone, and return to my closet. What to wear, what to wear… I mean, what does one wear that's apropos to a party that's also a crime?

The jacket lies on the bed, arms open like before an embrace. The "fleece" inside gazes up at me, begging me to return to it. So, I do. I slip it on over my vest, and do up the wooden buttons. It's warm, and cozy, and reminds me of… but I won't think about that right now.

Then I finally look up at the clock, and realize it's only nine. Now, I have to wait for three hours. Urgh. Well, perhaps I'll do some washing.

The duvet cover and sheets go first, into the washing machine. I hope it doesn't break this time. I pour in some detergent, push the button, and fly to the other side of the room with my eyes closed and my hands over my ears. Luckily, nothing blows up, catches fire, falls off, or turns into Bozo the Clown, so I go to the kitchen to try my hand at the accumulated dishes.

I'm not leaving them that long ever again. They are crusty, smell rank, and may or may not have insects crawling through them. It makes me shudder. It takes me about an hour and a half to finish them all. The washer dings, and I move my bedding to the dryer. My breath catches a little as I realize that they won't smell like her anymore, but I can't let myself be bothered by that anymore. Then I sit on the floor, and for the first time in my life, I curse the fact that I don't procrastinate. My house is clean! Now, I have to entertain myself. That'll go well.

I find a pen, and a pad of paper. I don't believe in TV, and lately, music makes me depressed, so I've been drawing a lot. But right now, I have an itch to write something. But what? I press the pen to the white post-wood. Words begin to spill without thought onto the smooth, ruled surface.

_Maureen._

_Mo._

_Lover._

_Betrayer._

_But I miss her…._

…No I don't…

_Yes, I do._

_Skin._

_Smell._

_Simple presence._

_Gone._

_But hopefully, not for long._

I feel… a lot better, actually. I feel calm.

The phone rings, yet again. This time, my cell. The thing cost me a fortune. I look at the clock. Eleven fifty-eight. Crap! I grab my phone, and dash out of the door.

It rings persistently in my hand. I answer.

"Honey?"

"…Maureen? What do you want?"

"I… I just wanted to see if you were okay."

Ouch. "I'm fine. Peachy."

"Hey, that's not fair! I'm trying, okay! Really! Just tell me what I can do!"

I fall silent, listening. I'm nearing their building now.

"I can, I will, never do this again. I'll… I'll be your slave! I'll be good, I'll kiss your shoes! I'll kiss your Doc Martens! Anything! Your every wish I will obey!"

I grin. I love it when she gets dramatic like that. Especially when it's trained on me. "That might be okay, I say, surprising her as I come up behind her. The tiniest smile appears on her lips. I pretend not to notice. "Down girl."

She gets onto her knees. I pat her head.

Mark is standing nearer the door. He winks at me. I go over to speak with him about legal matters, but I watch Mo out of the corner of my eye. She's being "disgusted" at Mark's and my friendliness. I toss her the rope I found in my pocket. "Start hoisting, wench!"

After about an hour, we break in, shoo Benny, and get a lovely view of Angel in a shower-curtain dress. Sadly, Maureen gets it into her head that she is the main reason that Mark has this career possibility or something, but it'll probably blow over. The important thing is, I get to take a gorgeous lady home with me. It's gonna be a happy new year!


	4. Mi Portar

AN: I am SO sorry that this has taken so long. I was just... utterly uninspired for a long time. I went to Cuba, and after seeing how content they were with so little, I didn't go on the computer much. Also, I was feeling a bit lazy. Please, don't be too mad. I'll do something to make it up for you. Any suggestions?

**Disclaimed.**

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As I wind down, I think to myself: _These are the parts I love. When we are at peace. Right now, she's lying beside me, in our bed, snoring softly. It sounds a bit like she's purring. She's gorgeous all of the time, but she looks real when she's sleeping. She looks like a human, with vulnerabilities. I love her most when she's real._

_The woman is a lover, and a fighter. Sometimes at the same time, thus the handcuffs attached to our bedposts, but that isn't really what I'm talking about. She's so… volatile. I don't know if I can handle her. But… I want to. Right? Yes. Yes, I do._

I trace the outline of her cheekbone with a finger, not really wanting to wake her, but missing her face. My mind boggles as I realize that as the way things stood just this morning, I was going to give this up forever. I exhale deeply. _Never again._ The sound rouses her. The scintillating eyes that once captured me from across a smoke-filled room blink open, and slowly focus on my face, before the lush lips that I once mourned never touching stretched into a small smile.

"Hi, pookie."

"Hey there, honeybear." I kiss those lips. She moans in the back of her throat so softly I can but barely hear it, and I return the sound. She tastes amazing.

After today, I expected her to sleep until at least tomorrow afternoon, but it's three in the morning, and she's wide awake, and seems to be ready for a bit more fun. I knew I loved this woman! I help her remove her shirt. She won't be needing it.

Two weeks after new years, and things are still good. Mo is working on a new protest, or, rather, the same protest re-worked. Something about gophers, I'm not sure. She keeps hinting that she wants me to help, and that she wants Mark to film, but I don't think that'll get very far. She forgets about these things rather often.

I think I'm learning to trust her. She went to buy some baked goods for our seriously under-stocked pantry the other day, and I decided to come along. The boy at the bakery was definitely ogling her cleavage, and I almost punched him in the face when he asked me if I could give him her number. But, I didn't! And, she was giggling and flirting and posing as usual, and I didn't even freak out at her. I think I'm doing well.

She is wearing one of my shirts today. They're a bit big on her, but she looks great in anything, especially if she has it unbuttoned and isn't wearing a bra. I'm finding it very difficult to work on my case with her on the couch, looking like that, sucking on the end of her pen. She makes me crazy.

After about ten minutes of that, I forget about my work. She's more important, and much more enticing.

It'll be Valentine's Day in a week. Mo has finally decided that she wants me to direct her protest, and I think she'll appreciate my ideas. They speak to people that could help her attain her goals. I'm a lawyer, it's what I do.

I bought a ring. Marriage for us isn't legal, yet, but I still thought that maybe, we could have the same results. It's just a ceremony. And I do love her. Very much. I'd do anything for her, if she'd let me, which honestly is a problem sometimes, but I think it'll iron itself out in time.

I'll ask her to be mine on the day. It'll be great. I can't wait to see the look on her face.


End file.
